I sit on the ledge listening to the waves below slap and swirl at the lip of the cliff. A pelican glides low across the water, the tip of its wings lightly brushing the swell. To the west a small white sailboat slowly makes its way to the edge of the world where a dark cloud has thrown its rainbow anchor. To the east, over the hills, a juvenile sun flirts with the billowing skirts of a grey cloud. Below, three ferries chug across the bay and behind them, on the distant plain, the sky vomits a cold white army on the drowsy land. They race silent, relentless, over the bay toward the swirling waves and the jutting lip of the cliff to lay siege to those across the water. I wait, bracing myself for the stinging onslaught of the cold morning rain.